Friday about Folklife

[elfs]

Omaha asks, "Who's Tom Jones?"

Sigh.

I spent 10½ at work, finishing up the last of the Samba communication system. It's about as annoying as a mosquito that, once the permissions a user has for accessing a certain file are established, the authentication data is thrown away, so there's no effective way to do accounting about who asked for a file-- if there happen to be multiple accounts on an NT server accessing another NT server, the accounting data only tracks the file's access token and the who information is gone. Sigh.

We also determined that there are no lightweight file objects in NT; every reference to a file creates a new file object with all of that file's statistics and tier 1 permissions, even if all you're gonna do next is delete it. Needless to say, this makes deleting a tree over the network suck.

After this I went out to Folklife to meet up with Omaha and Kouryou-chan. They were already at the center house, dancing to some kind of swing band. fallenpegasus was there as well, helping to herd the sprog, who kept trying to climb into the elevator to found out where it went.

Omaha decided that she wanted to attend "operatic comedy" with a pair of ladies who sang about the silliness seen at gay family picnics, the tragedy of breasts falling with age and suffering the indignity of mammograms, the Northwest's obsession with getting its citzens to garden and compost. It was all terribly amusing, but I'm afraid that I spent most of it reading through the latest Honor Harrington book. Kouryou-chan clapped, but didn't get it, and she spent most of her time in my lap, squirming and asking for pacifying strokes and tickles.

After the opera, we wandered off to feed our faces. I had salmon while Omaha went and met The Man, the local nickname for Gene's Barbecue, the hottest, tastiest hot sauce in the Northwest. She declined to actually have any of the sauce on her sandwich. Kouryou-chan enjoyed a hot-dog the usual way: starting at the middle until it broke apart, and then each half individually. She was completely inundated with ketchup.

Omaha went to Native Alaskan Dance while I wandered around. I ran into damiana_swan and her friends, and we listened to a band called The Clumsy Lovers. They rocked. "Ragin Cajun Country Celtic Bluegrass" good enough that even undanceable I was moved to at least, wiggle a little. Damiana might claim I danced, but I'll deny every word of it.

Good grief, but there's eye candy here. Every shape and size of gorgeous, youthful, wonderful humanity. And Friday the weather was warm enough that neither the men or women wore very much. There were a few men who made me wonder how much work it would take to get those kinds of washboard abs, and a few others who made me pine for the days when being queer was easy. I wandered through the bookstore but didn't see anything that tempted me. Looked through the "Uncommon Market" and saw a lot of fun things to buy, but wasn't tempted by much.

Caught up with Omaha. Kouryou was still hungry, so we bought her another hot dog, but she rejected it. Finally, she did, and the restoration to her blood sugar immediately enabled her to run around with four or five other girls between the ages of five and seven, and just watching them made me feel exhausted. Where do they get that kind of energy? Where can I get some of it? Meanwhile, we watched pre-code movies on the big screen on the north lawn-- Betty Boop cartoons, "swing era" music videos-- goodness, some of those are surprisingly offensive to Native Americans and Blacks.

But all that running around did take a toll. She collapsed the second she was in the car, and Omaha and I soon followed her to sleep.